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Friday, January 20, 2017

Moving On

A collection of short stories and poetry edited by Alessia Brio. All proceeds from the sale of this special anthology and subsequent releases in the line will benefit MoveOn.org

INTRODUCTION:

When George W. Bush was declared the winner of the 2004 election, I thought that my disappointment in the adult population of the United States could not possibly get any deeper. Boy, was I ever wrong!

I didn't watch the election results on November 8, 2016. I went to bed confident, almost complacent, that morning would bring news that the United States had elected its first woman president and that her opponent, a vulgar demagogue (I still refuse to speak/type his name), would finally fade into insignificance and relative obscurity. Instead, it felt as if I'd been smacked in the forehead with a baseball bat. I stumbled through the day, in a fog of incredulity and despair.

I looked at everyone I encountered with suspicion unless I knew, with utter certainty, that they did not help elevate such a vile human being to the highest office in the land. I commiserated with friends who, like me, now feared for the future. I wore (and still wear) a safety pin. I "unfriended" tangential people on Facebook who were gloating and celebrating, and I "unfollowed" many more who were clearly accessories to this heinous travesty, including family members. I wanted to purge my life of people who could find it in themselves to overlook the gross misogyny, the bigotry, and the bullying (not to mention the utter lack of anything resembling the requisite qualifications). To hell with acceptance. Some things are so far beyond compromise that it's insulting to even suggest it.

As the weeks passed, I could not escape his name and his photo. Each time it appeared in my social media feeds, it was like poking a fresh wound, a wound that has not been given the opportunity to scab over, much less heal. It's an assault to everything that is decent and kind and generous, and now it's going to be in our faces for years.

I've always been an outspoken activist, but I knew the world that dawned on November 9th would require me to step up my game. Big time.

So, I created an additional Twitter account to confront hate on one of its chosen venues. There, I indulge myself and respond to his tweets in the only language he seems to speak: vanity. I poke and prod and call attention to the hypocrisy. It's cathartic, but I don't delude myself that it's in any way enough.

I joined and am active in the state and local offshoots of Pantsuit Nation. I already have my Metro pass and pussy hat, and I will proudly participate in the Women's March on Washington on January 21st. That's also nowhere near enough.

This book, which will benefit Move On, will add to my efforts and the efforts of all the wonderful authors who've contributed. It's still not enough.

I will write and call and rally and boost the signal of all resistance efforts. Not enough.

Nothing will ever be enough until this monstrous stain is obliterated.

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